


How could anyone ever tell you

by orphan_account



Series: Queering Downton Abbey [1]
Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Charlie isn't underage but kind of looks it, Clumsy/potentially harmful dealing with sexual assualt, Mentions of Suicide, Other, Panic Attacks, Period-Typical Homophobia, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rape Aftermath, Sybil Crawley explains triggers, Thomas tries really hard, Trans Character, Transphobia, Unsafe Binding Techniques, non-graphic description of rape
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-29
Updated: 2015-05-29
Packaged: 2018-02-27 10:11:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2688956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a new footman at Downton, and Thomas is doing his best to wade through their combined issues to help as much as he can.</p><p>This story deals with the aftermath of sexual assault and transphobia. I warn for everything I can think of by chapter, but take care of yourself just in case.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! There's a lot of problematic stuff going on here, so please pay attention to the warnings and take care of yourselves! The characters try very hard to deal with sexual assault, but end up perpetuating a lot of things. Both Charlie and Thomas are are above the age of consent and around the same age, but Charlie looks fairly young.

There’s a new footman at Downton. Somehow, he was hired while Thomas wasn’t looking, because his arrival is a total surprise, or at least that’s what Thomas tells himself. If he’d seen the man before and had time to get used to the idea, he wouldn’t have acted the way he does. Surely.

As it is, the first time Thomas sees Charlie (“You’ll be Charles here,” Carson says, and Charlie puffs up with pride at the name, like no one’s ever called him that before. Thomas is still going to think of him as Charlie), his brain stutters to a halt and he accidentally stabs himself while sewing a button back onto Lord Grantham’s shirt. He yelps, and Charlie looks over at him, and that’s the first time Thomas is exposed to those eyes. Thomas doesn’t go in for the ‘innocent virgin’ look – not least because there aren’t a lot of innocents who would be interested in him – but he can work with those eyes, can already see them hazy with desire, and that pretty mouth opened on a gasp – or better yet, around Thomas’s cock.

It’s a good thing valets and footmen don’t work directly together or else Thomas would probably end up doing something embarrassing.

Charlie is a hard worker, if a bit on the weak side, and the others like him - or at least they like him more than they like Thomas, but that’s to be expected. Charlie is also apparently immune to any advances Thomas makes. It’s possible he isn’t interested in men, but really, with how effeminate he is, he has to have been propositioned before. Even if he’s not like that, he must be aware enough to recognize subtle flirting when he sees it. So he’s ignoring Thomas.

It would be fine – or it wouldn’t be fine, but it would be bearable – except that Thomas can see the way Charlie tenses whenever Daisy tells him she’s more of a man than he is, or the way he alternately puffs his chest out to make himself look bigger or crosses his arms over it like he’s trying to hide something. All the signs point to queer, so why isn’t he saying anything? Thomas is attractive, so it can’t be that, and if he wanted Thomas to leave him alone he’d just say so, wouldn’t he?

Thomas chooses to blame his frustration and confusion for the way he accosts Charlie outside his rooms one night. Normally he’d never be so forward, especially not with someone he doesn’t trust, but he’s seen Charlie looking at him, too, and he just wants to know why. That’s all.

Charlie seems to think it’s more, if the way his eyes dart about as if looking for escape routes is any indication. Only then does Thomas realize how _small_ Charlie is, how delicate, with his baby-soft cheeks and long lashes, and how intimidating Thomas must be, this close up. He steps back.

“I’ve seen you looking at me.”

Thomas reconsiders. “I’m not trying to expose you. I know you see the way I look at you, so why don’t you say anything?” Charlie’s eyes have grown wider as Thomas spoke, and now he shakes his head, hair flopping over his eyes. It makes him look vulnerable.

“Thomas, I can’t – not that I don’t want to, but I can’t… I can’t.”

Well, that’s one hurdle out of the way.

“Why not?” Thomas purrs, skating his hands down Charlie’s shoulders and across his chest, feeling the catch of bandages and the slight swell of… what?

Charlie rears back, stumbling into the door. “You can’t tell anyone, I’m sorry, I know I’ve lied, but you can’t tell anyone, they’ll have me committed…” He’s babbling now, nearly hysterical, and Thomas does the only thing he can think of. He pulls Charlie into his arms and holds Charlie’s head against his chest, palm over Charlie’s mouth to quiet him.

“Shh. We won’t talk about it here.”

Charlie’s entire body has gone taut, but he nods jerkily and fumbles behind him for the doorknob. The door swings open, and before Thomas can process what’s going on, Charlie is out of his arms and pressed against the far wall. Thomas closes the door behind him and Charlie’s eyes grow impossibly wider, his breath shallow.

“No, please, I won’t – please don’t, it won’t make me more of a woman, they’ve tried, don’t touch me, don’t, please…”

Thomas freezes where he’s reaching towards Charlie. Every bit of desire still left in his body dissipates. If Charlie’s saying what Thomas thinks he’s saying, then every single thing Thomas has done since they met has been not, as Thomas thought, an expression of passive interest, but – at least to Charlie – a predatory statement of intent. Thomas may be a pervert, but he’d never – he’s a good person, most of the time. He swallows back bile.

“I’m not going to hurt you, Charlie. I won’t touch you. I just want to know what’s going on.” And to apologize, but not until he knows more. He doesn’t want to make any more potentially harmful assumptions.

It looks like it takes a lot of effort for Charlie to pry himself away from the wall, but he does, looking everywhere but at Thomas.

“I’m not a boy,” he starts. Stops. Swallows. “But you knew that. I’m not – I’m not a girl, though; I never have been, even when I was little, but that was back on the farm and there weren’t many people around to care, and even then I still wore dresses. When I went to the city I thought I could change, could be a man like I was supposed to be, but… it’s hard. No one takes me seriously. I’m weak, and I look too young, so no one wanted to hire me. And when people would find out, they would…” He wraps his arms around himself in a way that looks unconscious.

Thomas’s head is spinning, and he can’t seem to focus on the implications of what Charlie’s saying. His mind skitters off the surface of the thought whenever he tries. He knows it happens, but not to _men_. Or – is Charlie a man? “What’s your real name?” he asks, more to change the subject than out of any genuine curiosity.

Charlie seems to regain some of his spirit, thank god. He straightens up and lowers his arms slightly, eyes sparking. “Charlie. Who I was isn’t important. I’m Charlie now, and that’s the only name I have.” His eyes turn downcast, and Thomas scrambles for something else to say. An apology? “I’m sorry I’ve disappointed you. By not being who you wanted me to be.”

“You haven’t,” Thomas says without thinking, and then he has to pause. Has he? It’s true that he’s not what Thomas was expecting, but Thomas was half expecting to be shot down, so it’s not a huge loss. He’s still attracted to Charlie, though that might change if clothes were taken out of the equation – so, disappointed? No. Thomas feels guilty, because he’d thought he’d had to keep a secret, but here’s Charlie who can’t let people touch him because they might find out, Charlie who can’t let people touch him because he’s been touched that way before out of malice. But not disappointed. And Charlie looks so miserable, like this perceived disappointment is just one in a long line of disappointments, so Thomas makes a decision. “I won’t touch you if you don’t want me to,” he says. “But I’m still attracted to you.”

Charlie shakes his head, looking at Thomas warily. Thomas probably deserves that. “But I’m a woman. You don’t like women.”

“Who says I don’t?” Thomas hears himself say, which is a problem because, of course, he doesn’t. Or didn’t. He’ll have to think about this later, but for now, he’s already dug this hole so he might as well keep digging. “Besides, you’re not a woman. You said it yourself: you’re Charlie, and you want to be a man, and you live as a man, and as far as I’m concerned you are a man, and I’ve wanted you since you set foot in this house. Knowing what you are or aren’t doesn’t change that.”

“I don’t have a cock,” Charlie says slowly.

“I gathered.”

“That’s not a problem?”

“Is it a problem for you?” Thomas knows he’s deflecting, doing everything he can to buy time for his racing brain to catch up, but he also needs to know. He’s pretty sure he still wants this, in a way he never thought he could want a woman (but Charlie’s not a woman), but this must be a sensitive subject for Charlie.

“You can’t fuck me,” Charlie blurts, then blushes. “I mean, I don’t want that. But you can touch me, and I’ll suck you, whatever you want.”

“What do _you_ want?” Thomas presses. It sounds a little like Charlie is just saying those things because he thinks that’s what Thomas wants, and that’s _absolutely not_ what Thomas wants. Thomas has never been hurt like he suspects Charlie has, but he’s had sex he didn’t want because someone else wanted to, and while it wouldn’t ordinarily be a big deal, Thomas doesn’t want Charlie to feel like he has to do anything.

“I – I don’t know.” Charlie hesitates. “Kissing’s nice.”

“Let’s kiss, then,” Thomas says, and then, shit, he’s only just decided not to push, and here he is giving orders. Maybe he’s not cut out for this.

Charlie is looking at him oddly, but he nods his head and says, “okay. If that’s what you want.”

Jesus. “But is it what you want?” Charlie looks so breakable – always has, really, but somehow moreso now that Thomas knows how much he’s come through unbroken. But still, what if Thomas hurts him? What if Charlie panics, like the men Thomas served with who were so traumatized they’d go mad at loud noises? What if sex is like loud noises for Charlie?

At least some of his internal conflict must be visible on his features, because Charlie says, “it’s fine. The men who… they never kissed me, so. It’s fine.”

And that’s not all that reassuring, but Charlie looks like he’s daring Thomas to object, so Thomas takes Charlie’s face between his palms and brushes their lips together. Charlie stills for a moment and Thomas makes to pull away, but then Charlie’s hand has risen to grip his wrist and he’s kissing back.

It’s slow and unhurried and nothing like Thomas has ever experienced before, nothing like the furtive kisses focused only on the end goal he’s used to. He’s never kissed just for kissing’s sake before. It’s nice.

And then Charlie tilts his head slightly and it’s more than nice, it’s fantastic, Thomas never wants to stop doing this. He only hopes Charlie likes this enough to want to do it again. “Where can I touch you?” He breathes.

Charlie hesitates. “My hips,” he says finally. “I think.”

“Tell me if it’s not alright.” Thomas moves his right hand down, skirting past Charlie’s chest, which he imagines is off-limits, and settles it on Charlie’s hip. The other hand goes to cup the back of Charlie’s head, gentle even as he takes control of the kiss. He’s careful, giving Charlie as many chances to back out as he can, but Charlie opens his mouth willingly at the touch of Thomas’s tongue. His hands are fisted in Thomas’s shirt and he’s making little noises in the back of his throat.

Thomas is hard, and he wants nothing more than to shove Charlie back against the wall and have his way with him, penis or no, but he forces himself to pull back. “We have to stop,” he pants. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“Someone has to take care of that for you,” Charlie protests, but he looks relieved.

“I can take care of it myself. I’m an expert at not having sex,” Thomas promises. He should leave. “Goodnight, Charlie.”

“I won’t be a woman for you, you know.” Charlie’s voice is quiet, like he’s expecting a rejection now, of all times.

“I wouldn’t want you to.”

“No, I mean, if you wanted me to be your… your girl, or whatever, in public, I can’t do that. I’m sorry.”

“I wouldn’t ask it of you anyway,” Thomas says firmly. “Goodnight, Charlie. We’ll both think about it, okay? But it’s alright. All of it.”

He shuts the door behind him before Charlie can argue and falls back against it, closing his eyes. Charlie can probably hear that he hasn’t left, but Thomas is too tired to move. He’s never gotten himself into this much trouble before, and he should get out before something goes awfully wrong. But.

He presses a hand to his lips, like the heroines in those stupid books Daisy reads. God damn it.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter features a potentially nonconsenual handjob and hug, in that there is no enthusiastic consent and characters don't always ask before doing things.

Thomas is having a crisis, and not the one he thought he’d be having. He’d gotten over that one much faster than he expected to, and though he still has a few doubts, that’s now far less important than the fact that he fucked up. He hasn’t spoken to Charlie in days, and he knows Charlie is hurt and confused by his silence, but he just… can’t. If he tries, he’ll just fuck up again.

God, he’s such an idiot. He practically forced himself on Charlie, even though he knew (or suspected) what Charlie had been through, and Charlie was too relieved that Thomas would keep his secret to say no. Fuck. Thomas is such a fucking idiot, always fucking things up; why did he think something good could happen to him for once? Good things don’t happen to people like him.

Thomas closes his eyes and curls in on himself tighter under his blankets. He imagines Charlie, alone in his room down the fall, wondering why Thomas is avoiding him, worrying that his secret will get out, blaming himself.

Fuck.

He should have just left it alone. Every time he’s tried to reach out to someone it’s gone badly, so why did he even bother trying this time?

A small part of him thinks that maybe Charlie feels the same way. But Charlie needs people; that’s obvious. Thomas doesn’t. Thomas is fine; he doesn’t need to be close to anyone. He’s fine.

But Charlie’s not. And if no one else will understand…

Thomas will just have to be more careful. Sensitive is not something he’s used to being, but he’s done it before and he can do it again. God, he hopes.

But that brings up another problem: he can’t just corner Charlie like that again, even if it would be the easiest way to talk to him. Thomas is ashamed to admit he doesn’t know how to approach people without being intimidating, which means he’ll just have to wait for Charlie to come to him.

* * *

 

Charlie is not coming to him. Thomas supposes that’s fair, since he is the one who stopped talking to Charlie, but he’s running out of ideas. Currently, he’s loitering in the kitchen in the hopes that Ms. Patmore will take leave of her senses and assign him some task with Charlie. It’s not going well.

“Charles, put that down before you drop it! I swear, you should have been born a girl with how weak you are!”

Thomas bristles as he watches Charlie’s shoulders slump and the tray he’s holding tilt dangerously, but he tries to keep his voice calm. People might get suspicious if he’s too defensive, and he’s not about to blow Charlie’s cover like that. “I’m sure Charlie’s capable of holding it, Ms. Patmore; Mr. Carson did give him the job,” he remarks, putting as much of asshole-Thomas into it as he can. Charlie gives him an odd look.

“Oh, he’s Charlie now, is he? Make the poor boy feel more like a child, why don’t you?”

Well, that backfired. “He’s a man, Ms. Patmore, and I doubt he’d appreciate being called a child.”

“Well, I bet he can say that himself without you saying it for him,” Ms. Patmore sniffs. “What’s gotten into you anyway, sticking up for him?”

Thomas shrugs, willing himself not to blush. He doesn’t even know where they stand; he shouldn’t be embarrassed about their potential relationship before it’s even started. And Thomas Barrow doesn’t blush, anyway. “I don’t like seeing people being picked on, that’s all.”

“With the way you treated William, that’s hard to believe.”

“Maybe I’ve turned over a new leaf,” Thomas drawls. He doesn’t need to stay here and be insulted. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to dress His Lordship for dinner.”

He can feel Charlie’s gaze on him all the way out of the room.

* * *

 

Thomas wakes that night to a knock at his door and an embarrassed-looking Charlie muttering “can I come in?” before Thomas has even finished opening it.

Whatever he did today, it must have worked, at least, though Thomas wishes he knew what it was.

“I’ll have to close the door,” he says.

“I know that!” Charlie snaps. “I’ll just… stay close to it.”

Thomas debates sitting on the bed, but decides that might be too suggestive. He waits.

“Why are you sticking up for me?” Charlie blurts, after several minutes of silence. Ah. That’s what it was. That’s unfortunate.

“Someone needs to take care of you,” Thomas says, deceptively light. His urge to protect those he cares about has kicked in strongly with Charlie, never mind the fact that they hardly know each other, but it obviously makes Charlie uncomfortable. Thomas needs to gauge how much of a problem this is going to be.

“I don’t need your pity.” So, a problem, then. Well, he can at least diffuse it for now.

“It’s not pity; it’s an apology.”

Charlie looks confused, which gives Thomas pause. Maybe Charlie hasn’t been agonizing over this the way Thomas has. “An apology? What for?”

“For the way I treated you. I shouldn’t have forced myself on you like that, especially when you felt you were in my debt.” I’m no better than the men who did this to you, Thomas adds silently, but that wouldn’t go over well.

Charlie shakes his head. “There’s no need to apologize; you didn’t upset me. I’m used to it,” he adds, with a smile that’s probably supposed to be reassuring but just comes out brittle.

“You shouldn’t have to be!” Thomas’s voice comes out louder than he means it to, and Charlie flinches. “I’m sorry,” Thomas says, more softly. “I wish that you didn’t think you have to do things like that to make me keep your secret.”

“That’s how it’s always been before,” Charlie mutters, looking away.

Thomas’s chest hurts in the way that it’s been hurting more and more often lately, usually when he thinks about Charlie being upset. He ignores it. “I know that, and I’m sorry I made you feel it was like that with me. You will never have to do anything to make me keep your secret, even interact with me. I’ll leave you alone if that’s what you want.”

“I don’t want that. I don’t know what I want, but I don’t want that.”

“Well, tell me when you know.” Thomas tries to sound commanding, but he thinks it comes out more desperate.

“I want.” Charlie takes a breath. “I want to… be your man. Have you be mine, I think. And I want you to stop sticking up for me.”

“I can do that,” Thomas says slowly. It will be difficult, but it’s a reasonable request, and he’ll honor it. “You have to tell me what ‘being mine’ means, though. I don’t want to make any more mistakes.” Charlie looks like he’s about to say that it’s fine, but Thomas glares at him until he closes his mouth. “If you’re not comfortable, with anything, you tell me, alright? Otherwise I won’t do this.”

Charlie looks sullen, but he nods. “Alright.”

“Good. What do you want from me right now?”

“I… I want to go to bed,” Charlie admits, looking guilty. Thomas wants to shout at him until he understands that it’s fine; they don’t need to have sex now, or soon, or ever, if Charlie doesn’t want to.

“I’ll see you in the morning, then,” he says instead.

Charlie looks conflicted, then, and shifts his weight nervously. He darts forward suddenly to plant a quick kiss on Thomas’s lips, mumbling “goodnight” as he pulls away, face flushed. He’s out the door before Thomas can make himself move from where he’s frozen to the spot.

Once again, Thomas finds himself standing alone, stunned by Charlie’s kiss.

This is going to be so much more difficult than he thought it would be.

* * *

 

This is _so much more difficult than Thomas thought it would be_. Charlie keeps pushing to do more, to take their relationship further, but Thomas sees the way he flinches when Thomas accidentally brushes his arm or forgets and touches his shoulder. It frustrates him that Charlie won’t listen when Thomas says that it’s really alright if they never touch. So far, he’s managed to keep Charlie at bay under the guise of ‘taking it slow,’ but that excuse is starting to wear thin and Thomas isn’t sure what to do next.

Still, spending time with Charlie is wonderful, and Thomas doesn’t even really mind the confused looks and pointed comments from the rest of the staff about their new friendliness. Part of him worries that they’ll figure out the nature of their relationship, but he shoves that part deep into his psyche and resolutely doesn’t think about it. Charlie needs this intimacy, is practically starved for it, and for once in his life Thomas wants to do something entirely unselfish. Well. Mostly unselfish.

(He doesn’t let himself think about the fact that he’s never had a real friend before.)

He still doesn’t initiate anything, and he’s careful not to touch when Charlie kisses him, though he makes sure Charlie knows it’s not because Thomas doesn’t want him. He figured out early on that Charlie’s lack of self-esteem makes communication essential, even if it’s not in his nature to be so open about his feelings. Large parts of him are still afraid that Charlie will turn around and tell him it was never real.

He’s doing as well as can be expected, given all that, and even if it drives him mad with want sometimes, Thomas tells himself it’s enough. It has to be. That same selfish, frightened part of him keeps hoping things will change, and he feels terrible for thinking it, but so far he’s managed to keep those thoughts to a minimum. He lo – likes Charlie, and Charlie’s happiness is more important than Thomas’s desires.

All that being said, it’s almost impossible to resist when Charlie keeps throwing himself at Thomas. Something has to give eventually.

“Can I just touch you?” Charlie says, turning big, pleading eyes on Thomas, and it was those eyes that got him in trouble in the first place; of course they’re going to get him in trouble again. “I promise I’ll tell you if it’s not alright.”

Thomas really shouldn’t, but he’s so hard, and all he wants right now are those delicate hands on him. He sighs in defeat. “Only if you also promise to let me stop if I think it’s not alright.” He’s not sure he’ll be able to stop, but he hopes to god that if something really did go wrong he’d be able to put Charlie’s needs above his own. He can control himself, even in this. Especially in this.

“You don’t trust me?” Charlie pouts. Thomas wants to do things to that pout.

“Not in this, no.”

Charlie rolls his eyes. “I’m _fine_ , Thomas,” he groans, but when Thomas just raises an expectant eyebrow at him, he relents. “I promise. Will you let me now?”

Against his better judgement, and probably thinking entirely with his dick, Thomas nods. Charlie grins and surges forward to work Thomas’s trousers open with surprising ease. Thomas tells himself it’s from working his own uniform off, because the other alternative is painful to think about and not conducive to erections, and it would kill Charlie’s self-esteem if Thomas went soft now.

It’s hard to keep those thoughts away, though, with Charlie looking up through his lashes in a move that’s obviously practiced. “You’re hard for me, aren’t you? I bet you can’t wait to come,” he murmurs.

Thomas usually likes his partners to talk, but this time the words send a shiver of disgust through him that he barely manages to suppress. He stops Charlie with a hand on his wrist, and Charlie tenses but doesn’t flinch away. “Forget what anyone’s told you you should do. I don’t want that; I just want you the way you are, no acting.”

Charlie looks skeptical, but when he returns his gaze to Thomas’s cock it’s with an uncertainty that Thomas finds simultaneously charming and worrying. “Alright,” he says softly, and then his hand is on Thomas’s cock.

Thomas inhales sharply, torn between watching Charlie’s hand on his cock, oh god and the need to watch Charlie’s face for any signs of discomfort. In the end, concern wins out and he studies Charlie’s expression carefully, eyes catching on the curve of his lips and the light in his eyes, brow furrowed in concentration.

“Charlie, ah – talk to me,” Thomas breathes. He hastily corrects himself when Charlie smirks. “Not like that. How are you?” Charlie’s grip tightens minutely and Thomas’s breath rushes out of him all at once.

“I’m fine, don’t worry,” Charlie says, and his gaze is steady. Thomas shudders.

“Keep looking at me,” he manages, and Charlie obeys. Thomas is drowning in big brown eyes, slightly glazed with want, and even Charlie is breathing heavier now. The knowledge that he’s not the only one affected hits his mind like a wave, and he curses, glad that Charlie seems to understand his nonverbal cues and tightens his hand.

“Yes, god, fucking yes,” Tomas groans, and Charlie twists his wrist just slightly and Thomas’s vision whites out. He bites his lip to stifle any noises, conscious of the people on either side of them, and leans forward to rest his head on Charlie’s shoulder, panting.

Immediately, he jerks back, but Charlie shakes his head and cups Thomas’s jaw, stroking lightly. “It’s alright.” He presses a light kiss to Thomas’s lips and then looks down at himself, grimacing at the come decorating his trousers. “Damn.”

Thomas laughs breathlessly. “Don’t worry, I know how to get it out.”

“Had practice with that?”

“Oh god no!” Thomas tries very hard not to picture Lord Grantham in any situation even remotely related to that. “Oh. You mean… then yes.”

“You thought I was talking about your valet duties?” Charlie laughs. It’s a sound Thomas never wants to stop hearing, and he can’t help grinning in reply. “Now is not the time I want to think about that. Or ever, really.”

Charlie’s eyes are still dilated, even as his laughter dies down, and Thomas gestures helplessly in the direction of his waist. “Do you want me to… help?”

“Not… not yet,” Charlie says, face suddenly shuttered. Thomas kicks himself. It was going so well. “No, don’t think like that. You haven’t ruined the mood. I’ll get there eventually.”

“It’s alright if you don’t,” Thomas says. Again.

Charlie rolls his eyes. “I’m aware; you remind me often enough.”

“Only because I know you still don’t believe me,” Thomas mutters, but he reaches out to pull Charlie closer. “Can I hold you?”

“We’ll see, won’t we?” Charlie says, folding himself into Thomas’s arms before Thomas can tell him that ‘we’ll see’ is not an acceptable answer when trying to gauge comfort levels, but all thoughts of reprimand disappear when Charlie looks up at him, eyes glistening. Thomas is ready to pull away at any second, but Charlie is smiling when he says, “yes. I didn’t think I ever could, after – so thank you. For being so patient with me.”

Thomas sighs, a combination of relief and exhaustion, and brushes a kiss to Charlie’s forehead. “I would never do anything to hurt you.” He can feel Charlie’s smile against his collarbone.

“I know. I’m not sure you do, though.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, any warnings you think I should add, let me know! Follow me on tumblr at [rigelis](rigelis.tumblr.com).


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Charlie has a small panic attack in this chapter and describes his assault in a very circumscript way. As always, Thomas tries his best but doesn't always do the right thing.

“Thomas! Whatever mischief you’re planning over there can wait. His Lordship needs you.”

Thomas glances up from where his head is bent close to Charlie’s, explaining the difference between black tie and white tie in what is probably a more intimate fashion than it requires. “No mischief here, Ms. Hughes,” he smirks, and rises to go, touching Charlie’s hand lightly in farewell. Charlie doesn’t even blink, which Thomas takes as a victory. Charlie is still wary of touching other people, especially men (he avoids Mister Matthew like the plague, and Thomas tries to ignore the sour taste in his mouth at the thoughts that conjures), but with Thomas, in private, he’s almost clingy, seeming to revel in his ability to touch and be touched without fear. It would be fine if he didn’t want Thomas to touch him either, of course, but getting over it is important to Charlie, so it’s important to Thomas.

Ms. Hughes tuts disapprovingly. “Well, whatever it is, don’t involve Charles in it. That boy’s too good to get caught up in your schemes.”

“’That boy’ is right here,” Thomas says, eyes narrowed. Charlie gives him a significant look, and Thomas deflates slightly. Right. He knows why Charlie doesn’t like it, how he thinks it makes him less of a man, but it’s hard not to stick up for him, hard not to put his acerbic tongue to good use for once. He sighs. “I’ll be going then.”

He turns to go, trying not to listen as Ms. Hughes attempts to warn Charlie away from him, because he has nothing to worry about. It won’t work. It won’t.

Obrien watches him suspiciously from the doorway.

* * *

 

Thomas is trying to be as helpful as he can. Not for his own sake, of course; bad behavior is pretty much expected of him by now. But if Ms. Hughes (and probably the rest of the staff) is giving Charlie a hard time about being friends with Thomas – not that Charlie would ever admit it bothers him – then he wants to prove he can be a good influence. That he’s worthy of Charlie’s (love) friendship.

As such, he’s standing in as second footman, since this dinner is a larger one and he’d insisted he didn’t mind. Everyone eyed him pretty oddly at that, but that’s their problem, not his. If they honestly think he’s too much of an asshole to do someone a favor, well, their loss. They should be grateful, not suspicious.

It’s a good thing he’s here, too, because Charlie seems extra jittery tonight. True, this dinner is larger than any Charlie’s ever had to serve before, but there’s something else about him, something off, that makes Thomas nervous. Charlie stands just slightly further away than is proper when serving the male guests and tries his hardest not to make eye contact with anyone.

When they meet again just outside the dining room, Thomas stops Charlie with a hand on his arm, moving slowly to give him time to notice and move away if he wants, but Charlie allows it. “What’s wrong with you?” Thomas hisses.

Charlie looks away. “Nothing. It’s nothing. I’m fine.”

“Well, don’t let it ruin this dinner,” Thomas says, thoughtlessly, and Charlie stiffens. Thomas curses under his breath. “I mean, we can talk about it later, if you want to.”

Charlie just shrugs him off and moves to grab the next course.

Charlie is _not_ fine, as evidenced by the way he skirts around Mister Matthew like one would a wild animal and nearly drops the tray when Mister Matthew reaches forward to serve himself. There’s something about him that sets Charlie off, obviously. Thomas hates to imagine what it is.

Despite that slight mishap, the dinner goes well, and once the guests begin to file into the sitting room, Charlie sags in relief. Thomas begins making his way over, prepared to grin and say something like ‘that wasn’t so bad, was it?’ to defuse the tension, but Mister Matthew gets there first.

Charlie doesn’t see him, turned as he is to face Thomas, so Matthew’s hand on his shoulder must come as a shock. He jumps.

“Are you alright, Charles?” Matthew says kindly. His large hand almost dwarfs Charlie’s shoulder in its friendly clasp. God, Matthew thinks he’s helping but he’s really, really not. “You seemed a little unwell at dinner tonight.”

Charlie is trembling, eyes wide, and his mouth opens and closes like he can’t find the air for words. His chest is heaving in a way that Thomas recognizes as panic, and before he realizes, he’s at Charlie’s side. He must have run, which is so undignified he can’t even begin to think about it, but Charlie looks like he might faint, and that’s much more important.

“He wasn’t feeling well earlier, it must have just come over him, I’m so sorry Sir, I’ll just take him back to his quarters now,” Thomas babbles, shepherding Charlie out the door while doing his best not to make contact with him. He isn’t sure how Charlie would react to that right now, and he doesn’t want to find out in front of Matthew.

Matthew frowns, obviously still concerned but hopefully willing to let it go. “Well, give him my well wishes.”

“I will, Sir,” Thomas calls, already halfway down the hall. Charlie stumbles before him, eyes large and glassy, but his breath is evening out, which Thomas takes as a good sign.

As soon as he’s ushered Charlie into his room, Thomas makes to close the door, certain that Charlie won’t want him there, but a small voice makes him pause. “No, stay. I’m – I’m alright. With you. You’re alright.”

Gingerly, Thomas steps inside and closes the door behind him. Charlie is sitting on the bed, shaking, but he looks up at Thomas and smiles guiltily. “I didn’t think that would happen.”

Thomas frowns. The time for reprimands is later, once Charlie’s calmed down, but he can’t help being angry. “I didn’t either, because I didn’t know what to look out for. You should have told me it was a problem.”

“It wasn’t! I don’t know why it is now!” Charlie cries, eyes pricking again with frustrated tears, and Thomas’s anger drains away for the moment. “I was fine.” With his frustration gone, Thomas successfully manages not to tell Charlie that no, he wasn’t, anyone could see that. “I thought – he just. Looks.”

 _Like the men who hurt me_ , Thomas finishes. “Charlie,” Thomas says carefully. He’s treading dangerous waters here, but he doesn’t know how else to help, and seeing Charlie gripped by panic like that terrified him. If Charlie causes scenes like that around Matthew all the time, he won’t be employed much longer, and Thomas can’t have that. “If you can, I want you to tell me what happened to you. I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s wrong.”

At least they’ve gotten past the point where Charlie would have refused his help. “Yes, alright,” he says wearily. “But – hold me? While I…”

Of course, god, it’s the least he can do, even if it might hurt Charlie more in the end. Thomas joins Charlie on the bed, marveling once again at how tiny Charlie is, and how strong despite it.

“They – I –“ Charlie starts. “When they would find me, they… they would say – not every time, but – sometimes, ‘you want it like a man? I’ll give it to you like a man,’ or ‘women just need a good f-fucking,’ and – “ He stumbles, but takes a deep breath and keeps going. “I tried to resist, at first, but it was easier to just do what they told me, because then they wouldn’t hurt me like – like that, or just normally, and – I thought… that’s all I was good for.” He looks up at Thomas, eyes sincere in a conviction that Thomas knows is wrong but can’t seem to convince Charlie of its wrongness. “You know I’m different, you know I’m wrong; why wouldn’t I deserve it? It’s not… right, for me to be the way I am, and no one will love me for it, and so I should just… take what I can get.”

Thomas is vaguely aware that he’s crying, but he buries his face in Charlie’s hair so Charlie won’t see. He’s supposed to be the strong one right now, damn it. “You’re wrong,” he chokes, because everything Charlie’s just said, every single thing, is something that Thomas has thought about himself at some point in time, and the thought of Charlie hating himself as much as Thomas hates _him_ self is too painful to bear. “You’re so, so wrong. There’s nothing wrong with you, just like there’s nothing wrong with me, and you don’t deserve any of what happened to you.” God, he’s a hypocrite, but if ignoring his own flaws it what it takes to make Charlie see that his are imaginary is what it takes, Thomas will do it. And even – “I love you, and I’ll give you whatever you want. You don’t ever have to settle.”

There. He said it, so it’s true now. If ever there were a time for Charlie to reveal this was all just a joke, this would be it.

Instead, Charlie raises his chin to look Thomas in the eyes and smile. “I love you too, you know. I was waiting for you to say it first so I didn’t pressure you.” He laughs and wipes a tear off Thomas’s cheek. “Why are you crying, you big sap?”

Because the worst thing that could happen didn’t; because Charlie cared enough not to want to pressure him. Because Thomas is in love and it’s nowhere near as painful as he thought it would be.

“Why aren’t you crying?” he retorts, with a watery grin.

Charlie shrugs. “I used to cry a lot. It never helped, so I stopped.”

Even that can’t dim Thomas’s high, so he just shakes his head and kisses Charlie, trying to make him see how much he is loved, how perfect he is, how everything’s okay now. How Thomas needs him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've completely lost control of Thomas. Sorry? You can find me on tumblr at [rigelis](rigelis.tumblr.com).


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are mentions of assault here and nonconsensual Outing.

Thomas’s stomach sinks to somewhere in the vicinity of his knees when he gets the summons. He hadn’t missed the speculative look in Matthew’s gaze, even as focused as he was on getting Charlie away, but he’d hoped Matthew would let it go. And maybe (hopefully) he has. Thomas stands at attention by the door, trying to school the nerves out of his expression. This could be entirely unrelated.

“Ah, Thomas,” Mister Matthew says, turning. “Thank you.”

“Can I help you, Sir?” Thomas says stiffly. Rationally, he knows that Matthew is a perfectly nice man and has never been anything but kind to him, but some of Charlie’s wariness has rubbed off on him, and he can’t help but wonder if there’s some reason Charlie is afraid, if there’s something that lies behind that kind exterior.

“Yes, actually,” Matthew says, stepping forward to look Thomas full in the eye. “You and Charles are close, aren’t you?”

Thomas quails internally. “Yes, Sir.”

“Then perhaps you can tell me,” Matthew starts, then looks away. He looks almost… pained. “Why he seems to dislike me so much.”

Shit shit shit. Thomas frowns in pretend confusion. “Has he done anything to offend you, Sir?”

“No, nothing like that,” Matthew says, shaking his head, and lowers himself into an armchair tiredly. “He just seemed… distressed, the other night, when I approached him.”

Matthew looks so tired, and Thomas almost feels bad for him. The war wasn’t kind to him either. “I don’t think it’s you personally, Sir,” he says carefully. Charlie will be angry if he ever finds out about this, but Charlie doesn’t ever have to find out, does he? “He doesn’t say,” (a lie) “but I think he’s had a few bad experiences with men who looked like you.”

“Is he alright?” Matthew asks, horrified. Shit. Charlie will never forgive Thomas if Matthew Crawley, of all people, comes to ask about his wellbeing.

“I assure you he is now, Sir, and he probably wouldn’t appreciate your concern. He’s very independent,” Thomas tries. It seems to mollify Matthew, which is good, because it means Thomas won’t have to go throw himself off a cliff or anything like that.

“Is there anything I can do?” Matthew asks. He still looks guilty, but less like he’s about to go and tattle to Carson.

“Perhaps don’t touch him, Sir,” Thomas says. That’s probably all he can say without giving anything away; he can’t very well tell Matthew to completely avoid one of his servants. It will have to do.

Matthew nods. “I can do that. Thank you for telling me, Thomas. I don’t want anyone to ever… feel uncomfortable in this house.” Thomas hears something sad in his voice, and he wonders for the first time how Matthew must have felt, thrown into a world he didn’t want or understand and expected to fit in right away. But it’s not his place to speculate.

“Thank you, Sir,” Thomas says, backing away respectfully. “I’ll give Charles your apology.” He won’t, though he wishes he could.

The last thing he sees is Matthew’s thoughtful face, but, god willing, that will be the end of that conversation.

* * *

 

There’s a knock on the door and Sybil stands, laying her book face down on the bed. It must be Mary or Edith at this hour; no reason to get dressed. “Just a moment!”

It’s not Mary or Edith.

“Hello,” Matthew says. Sybil draws her nightgown around herself, wishing she’d thought to put on a dressing gown. She feels very exposed. Matthew seems to sense it, if his apologetic expression is any indication. “I’m sorry to disturb you this late, but you were the only person I could think of to ask…”

Sybil shakes her head. This family and its problems, honestly. She’ll be glad to be rid of it. “Of course,” she says graciously. Lady Sybil is always happy to help people. “Is it private? Come inside.”

Matthew looks unsure, but he follows her back into the room anyway. When she moves to shut the door, though, he balks. “Lady Sybil, is this proper?”

Sybil raises her eyebrows. “Do you take me for one who cares much about propriety?”

Matthew smiles at her and moves aside to let her close the door fully. She uses that moment to take in his demeanor: uncomfortable but not embarrassed, somewhat worried. That doesn’t rule out much. She hopes it isn’t sexual; she isn’t dressed enough for that conversation.

“You must know about sexual relations,” Matthew blurts. Well, damn. Thankfully, he continues with “I mean, you were – are – a nurse, so I assume you have experience with men – not like that, of course, I just… have a question.”

Sybil sighs and mentally prepares herself. She can do this. She can be professional Sybil Crawley, who never gets tired of fixing people’s problems for free. She can do this. “Is there any itching? Redness? Any strange odors?”

Matthew’s blush, if anything, gets redder. “Oh! No. No, it’s… it’s not for me.” Sybil waits. Apparently, making assumptions in this conversation is going to get her nowhere. “It’s… can two men have… relations? Intimately?”

Sybil thinks she might have reared back, just a little bit, in shock. None of her assumptions could have prepared her for this. “Cousin Matthew,” she croaks, choking a bit on her own saliva, and wouldn’t that be a way to die? Maybe then she wouldn’t have to have this conversation. “I have no judgement for you, but I think this is something you need to figure out for yourself. And… perhaps reconsider your position as heir.”

Matthew scrubs his hands over his face. “No, I’m – I’m messing this all up. It’s still not for me, I promise. Though it’s good to know you wouldn’t judge this… person. I recently discovered that someone I… know… has had bad experiences with men. He’s terrified around me and nearly fainted when I touched him.”

“It’s Charles, isn’t it,” Sybil says flatly. Of course it is. He’s so frail; poor boy must have been quite a target for that in the city. Matthew nods reluctantly. “It’s…” Sybil sighs. “Yes. It is possible. And from what you’ve said, I assume you’re wondering if they can be… forcible.” She turns a sharp gaze on Matthew. “If it is true, then I would caution you not to say anything to him about it. He’s probably horribly embarrassed and feels like less of a man because of it, and I’m sure nearly passing out on his employer didn’t help.”

Matthew nods. “I’d already decided not to touch him from here on out, but I’m glad you agree it’s the right course of action.”

Sybil takes a deep breath. There is absolutely no part of this conversation that she ever wanted to have, with anyone, especially her sister’s probably-soon-to-be-fiancé (if they ever get over themselves), but here she is. How wonderful. “But that’s not the real reason you asked,” she says. It’s not a question, and from Matthew’s chagrined expression, he knows an answer isn’t optional.

“It’s selfish and petty, I know, if he’s been through that, but,” he pauses, “why is it only me? He seems perfectly fine with Thomas and Branson. It can’t just be that I look like – those men. He knows me. How could he… how could he think that of me?” Matthew looks genuinely hurt, and Sybil sighs again. It’s late, and she just wants this conversation to be over, but Matthew looks like he needs consoling. She wishes Edith were here.

“I’m sure he knows that, Cousin Matthew, but some things aren’t rational. For example,” she sweeps a brass platter off her dressing table and it hits the floor with a bang. Matthew jumps, eyes darting around the room, “traumatic events like war can cause flashbacks when triggered by certain things. So can something like that.” Matthew straightens and looks at her guiltily, and she rolls her eyes. “Please. I’ve seen many soldiers more traumatized than you. I promise you I’m not surprised.”

Matthew grins ruefully at her. “After this talk, Lady Sybil, I doubt you’re surprised by much of anything.” Sybil just shakes her head and shows him out the door. As soon as he’s gone, she slumps back against the closed door and lets herself slide to the floor. God.

She knew it happened, of course, and she’s always suspected Mary hadn’t been an entirely willing participant with Mr. Pamuk, but to know that someone in the house has been brutalized like that, is suffering like that, is crushing. She’s a healer; she fixes things, but she can’t fix this.

From what Matthew’s said, though, it seems like maybe Thomas can, to the extent that it can be fixed at all. She wonders, spurred by Matthew’s question, what their real relationship is. It’s very bold of them if it is that way, but then, Thomas has never been anything but bold.

She supposes that, if it comes down to it, she’ll defend them, as much good as it will do. They need someone friendly, and frankly, Sybil can’t bring herself to care about the family’s image anymore. What’s one more scandal? Thomas and Charles ought to be happy, and Sybil can help them.

* * *

 

Charlie stifles his giggle behind his hand, but it’s too late. The entire table is looking at them now, expectant.

“Is there something you’d like to share, Charles?” Carson says archly. Charlie shakes his head, still smiling.

“No, Mr. Carson. Thomas just said something funny.”

“I’m sure he did,” Carson grumbles, and Thomas feels mildly offended. It wasn’t even his Carson impression. But then Carson’s gaze sharpens, and Thomas swallows. “Thomas. With me. Now.”

Thomas expects a tongue-lashing the moment they clear the door, but that’s not exactly what he gets. “What are you doing with that boy, Thomas?”

Thomas ignores the prick of fear at the implications of that phrasing. That’s not what Carson means. Instead, Thomas focuses on the anger that simmers within him whenever someone puts Charlie down. “He’s not a boy, he’s a man,” he spits, “and he hates it when you call him a boy. Sir.”

Carson looks shocked. “I don’t see why; we always called William a boy,” he blusters.

“That’s because William _was_ a boy. He didn’t know anything about the world. Charlie’s a man.”

Carson’s sigh is long-suffering. “Fine, then. What are you doing with that man? He was perfectly nice before you took him under your wing.”

Thomas throws up his hands in frustration. “I’m helping him! Can’t you tell he’s more comfortable here now? He sticks up for himself! He never used to do that.” He nearly snarls, but manages to rein himself in. “I’m not doing anything sinister, Mr. Carson, and if you try to take away the one good thing that’s happened to me here, I swear I will leave.” He wouldn’t, really, he wouldn’t do that to Charlie, but it’s a nice threat.

“I see,” Carson says, and oh god, what if he does see? What if Thomas said too much? “You really have the bo – his best interests at heart?”

Thomas tries to calm his racing pulse. “I do.”

Carson sighs. “You must know why I find it difficult to believe you. However, if you manage to keep yourself – _and_ Charles – out of trouble, I suppose I cannot prevent you from interacting with him. Be careful, Thomas. I’ll be watching.”

With that pronouncement, he sweeps back into the dining room, leaving Thomas standing at the doorway. This situation is getting too big for Thomas to handle by himself, but what else can he do? There’s no one he could confide in. No one else can know.

* * *

 

This has been the worst week of Thomas’s life. Well, no, that’s not true, but right now it feels like it. Not one, but two nobles have cornered him to talk about Charlie, and he doesn’t think his heart can take much more of this. It’s Sybil this time, and Sybil’s always been more perceptive than the rest of them. Maybe she’s realized Charlie’s secret.

“Is Charles feeling better?” She asks mildly, and Thomas slumps in defeat.

“Matthew told you,” he says, not bothering with formalities. He doesn’t have the energy to care right now, and she can just deal with it. Although, thinking about it, she’d probably prefer he never use them at all. She’s a strange one.

Sybil inclines her head. “He did.” She falls silent again, and Thomas realizes she’s waiting for him to say something.

“He shouldn’t have. _I_ shouldn’t have. Charlie doesn’t want anyone to know, and I betrayed his trust.”

“You were just looking out for his best interests,” Sybil soothes, and Thomas almost, _almost_ believes her. “That’s not why I wanted to talk with you, though."

Thomas straightens up. This, he can deal with. “What is it, Lady Sybil?”

“I imagine you have it easier than Anna and Bates, since you sleep in the same hall,” Sybil says casually, as if she hasn’t just insinuated that they’re sleeping together (even though they are. Well. Sort of. Not really. That’s beside the point, anyway). “But it must be nerve-wracking with all those people who could hear you.”

Thomas can’t move. He’s frozen in place, and he should do something to shut her up, to convince her she’s wrong, but he can’t move, he’s been found out, everything is ruined and he’ll never work again, and what about Charlie, what will happen to Charlie? Charlie can’t go out on the streets again, he can’t, because Thomas said he’d never let anyone hurt him, and he can’t promise that if they’re not at Downton.

He registers Sybil’s voice washing over him, concern mingled with comfort. “Oh, Thomas, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to spring that on you. I should have started by saying that I won’t tell anyone and that I don’t mind. You’re safe.”

Thomas manages to take one gulping breath of air, and his head clears a little. “How could you ever accuse me of such –“ he manages to croak, but Sybil just looks at him from under raised brows and he gives up. “I. I can’t afford to believe you,” he admits. Sybil’s face softens.

“I know. I’m asking you to anyway.”

Thomas takes another few breaths until he’s fairly certain he isn’t going to faint. “Well, you know either way, so I suppose it’s better you told me. Now I won’t be surprised if it gets out.”

“I wouldn’t - !” Sybil starts, but Thomas shakes his head.

“If you noticed, so will others,” he says wearily. “It was only a matter of time.” He’d hoped it would be a matter of far-in-the-future time, but he’d known the risks when he started.

“I’ll defend you, if that time comes,” Sybil says fiercely, which is cute, but completely unnecessary, not least because her testimony will mean nothing. “I think it’s stupid that people can’t love whomever they love.”

That, at least, makes Thomas laugh, some of the tension easing out of his body. “I do too, Lady Sybil, but you can’t fight every fight. Women’s rights are more important.”

“Not to you.”

“What can I say? I’ve always been about self-interest.”

Sybil just _looks_ at him, like she can see everything he’s thought about Charlie and his own place in Charlie’s life, and smiles. “Perhaps not so much anymore.”

Thomas shifts uncomfortably. He’s not entirely come to terms with loving Charlie himself, yet, and it feels wrong for someone else to know. “Well, if that’s all…”

“It’s not.” Sybil looks like she’s gathering courage. She hands him a key and says, “I wanted to offer you a room. For the night. The two of you. If you wanted to have privacy. For anything.”

“Thank you,” Thomas says, floored. This is more than accepting, this is abetting. “But we don’t actually…” but Sybil’s already on her way out the door.

“I don’t want to know if you use it,” she calls, “but it’s there if you want.”

Thomas stares after her (it seems he’s always left wrong-footed at the end of conversations these days). This is so fucking weird.

* * *

 

“So I found us a room for the night,” Thomas says without preamble, in possibly the most awkward fashion he could have broached the subject. But he brought it up, so now he has to continue. “If you. If you wanted. Not that I’m pressuring you or anything, just. If you wanted.”

“A room?” Charlie asks, carefully.

Thomas swallows. “For you know. Privacy.”

He’s expecting Charlie to decline, _hoping_ Charlie will decline, because they’re not ready for this no matter what Charlie says. But Charlie grins and says, “alright. There’s something I’ve been wanting to try.” He eyes the key. “I don’t want to know how you got that, though. Plausible deniability.”

“That’s what she said, too,” Thomas grumbles.

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that.”

Thomas laughs and moves forward to kiss him. “Are you sure? About this, I mean?”

Charlie pulls him closer and wraps his arms around Thomas’s waist. “I’m sure. I’ve been practicing,” and oh god, Thomas is doomed.

“Practicing?” he tries to say, though it comes out kind of strangled.

Charlie pats his cheek fondly. “Don’t worry about it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on tumblr at [rigelis](rigelis.tumblr.com).


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains a sex scene that starts out consensual, but one character misgauges about their comfort level and ends up having a panic attack. Feel free to skip it if you need to do that; nothing else happens.

It’s with a _lot_ of apprehension that Thomas sneaks into the guest bedroom he discovered (after a lot of furtive searching) that the key Sybil gave him unlocks. Charlie had told him to wait for half an hour after Charlie left, and Thomas obeyed, equal parts turned on and terrified by what Charlie might be doing in that half hour.

For a minute, he thinks he’s been set up, because there’s no one in there. As soon as he closes, the door, though, Charlie steps out from behind a screen, and oh god.

Thomas has always had a few niggling doubts about whether he could get it up for Charlie, but that is so not a problem right not it’s not even funny. Charlie eyes his cock with some amusement. “I thought you might like it.”

“I – you – _clothes_ ,” Thomas says, numb. His mouth is dry and he can’t seem to avert his eyes the way he should, can’t seem to stop and talk about this the way he needs to. All of his sexual encounters up to this point have been quick and furtive, and no one’s clothes have ever gotten past their ankles. Seeing Charlie naked seems to have shut down his brain.

Even so, the part of him that is always aware, always attuned to Charlie, is analyzing Charlie’s posture. He looks relaxed, almost smug, not nervous at all. “Can I touch?” Thomas blurts.

Charlie blushes and looks down, and there, that’s the Charlie that Thomas knows. “If you want,” he says, and yes. Thomas wants. Charlie spreads his arms and Thomas forces himself not to pounce, instead walking slowly so that Charlie can escape if he needs to.

“Tell me,” he murmurs, hands hovering just over Charlie’s sides but not quite touching. “I need to know if you want it.”

Charlie’s cheeks heat with a blush that spreads all the way down to his chest, which Thomas never knew before. He nods shyly, and when that isn’t enough, adds, “I want you to.” Thomas rests his hands lightly on Charlie’s hips, trailing one up his side in a feather-light caress. The breasts before him, incongruous with his image of Charlie, don’t bother him like he worried they would, though he keeps his distance in case they bother Charlie. To him, though, they’re part of Charlie, and Charlie is beautiful, so they’re beautiful.

“Where?” Thomas breathes. “Where can I touch you?”

“I, um, there’s something I want to try.”

Thomas hesitates. “Are you sure?” He cups a breast, feeling its unfamiliar weight and deciding he likes it, if only because it makes Charlie sigh a little.

“ _Yes_ , I’m fucking sure, stop asking. I’ll tell you if it’s not alright.”

And though that doesn’t sit well with Thomas, he can tell Charlie’s fed up with him asking, so he has to trust that Charlie will keep his word. He lets Charlie tug him over to the bed and push him down to kneel in front of it before lying down and spreading his legs to Thomas’s view, and Thomas panics.

He hasn’t seen any of this before; none of it’s familiar and he has no idea what to do, but he feels Charlie’s hand brushing the hair out of his face and it calms him a little. “Hey. It’s alright. I’ll show you what to do.” Charlie’s grin is dangerous. “Like I said, I’ve been practicing.”

Thomas nods shakily and watches as Charlie trails a hand down his body. There’s a lot going on down there that he doesn’t really understand, but Charlie seems to be enjoying himself, if the little twitches of his hips and the way he sighs Thomas’s name are any indication. Eventually, the sighs coalesce into sentences.

“Thomas, fuck me, please, Thomas…”

Thomas hesitates, and hates himself for it. “Are –“

“What’s wrong with you?” Charlie growls in frustration. “Do you think I’m too _fragile_?”

“No, I –“ _think you’re lying_.

“Please,” Charlie begs, “I want you to.” And he looks so sincere that Thomas can’t bring himself to doubt. Still, he hesitates even now, and Charlie looks at him in concern. “Do _you_ want to?”

“God, you know I do,” Thomas groans, and he gives in. Maybe it’s lust clouding his better judgement, maybe he’s just tired of holding back; whatever it is, something snaps and before he really knows what’s happening, he’s got Charlie’s legs hooked around his waist and he’s guiding his cock inside Charlie, oh god.

Charlie makes a choked noise and stills, but Thomas can barely hear it over the blood pounding in his ears. He has to take this slow, he has to be gentle, he has to make this good for Charlie, he has to –

Charlie’s not moving. A sudden, irrational part of Thomas thinks _oh god he’s dead_ but no, he’s just frozen, breath coming in shallow pants and eyes fixed on the spot where they’re joined.

“Charlie?” Thomas whispers, praying it’s just surprise that’s drained all the color from him. Charlie doesn’t answer. “Oh god, Charlie.” He pulls out as carefully as he can, pulling his hands away from Charlie’s hips. “Charlie, god, are you – can I touch you, Charlie, let me hold you, please – “

He moves to put his arms around Charlie, and he only means to comfort him, really, but then Charlie’s in motion, darting off the bed to curl himself into the corner furthest away from Thomas, head down and arms wrapped around his legs. He’s gasping, great, sobbing breaths, and his eyes are glazed in panic. “Please don’t,” he whispers. “I don’t – I’ll do whatever you want, I’ll suck you, I’ll – just don’t, please, you can’t…”

This must be what heartbreak feels like, Thomas thinks dazedly, this excruciating pain and tightness in his chest. He feels like Charlie’s huge breaths are sucking all the air out of the room, because all of a sudden he’s having trouble breathing. His voice is small and hoarse when he speaks. “Charlie? It’s me, Thomas. I’m not going to hurt you. I’m not going to touch you. Do you think you can put your clothes on?” He moves towards the bed to grab a pair of trousers, at least, and Charlie screams.

“ _Don’t touch me!_ ”

Thomas closes his eyes, feeling tears welling up that he won’t let fall. He has to be strong right now. He fucked this up and now Charlie’s hurting, and so Thomas has to be strong. He doesn’t get to be sad. It’s his fault.

God, it is. He should have known, should have trusted his gut when Charlie said he was ready, because he’d known, deep down. He’d just been too blinded by lust to listen to his instincts, and now Charlie can’t even be near him. He’s ruined their relationship; he’s ruined everything.

But even if he’s broken everything beyond repair, he still has to get Charlie back to his room safely. Thomas owes him that much.

“Charlie. Charlie, it’s me. You don’t want me to touch you, is that right?” Charlie shakes his head vigorously. “Alright. Would it be alright if Anna touched you? She’s a woman; she can’t hurt you.” _Like I hurt you_ is left unsaid.

Charlie clutches his arms tighter around himself. “She can’t know,” he says fiercely, though his voice wavers and he won’t take his wide, scared eyes off of Thomas. Thomas realizes belatedly that he’s still naked – though not hard anymore, thank god – and that that’s probably not helping the situation. He backs very carefully towards where he dropped his trousers and shirt and pulls them on, making sure his hands are visible at all times.

“She won’t tell,” he promises, and he feels like shit for forcing this on Charlie, right after he forced himself on Charlie, but he can’t think of anything else to do. “I promise. She’s good at keeping secrets.” And even if she would tell, he’s got dirt on her as well. Softer, he adds, “she’ll know what to do. She’s dealt with things like this before.”

And that was his fault, too. Fuck everything.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since this continues directly from the last chapter, there is the tail end of a panic attack.

“Anna!” Thomas hisses, knocking as loud as he dares. He wants to shout her name, to pound on her door until she realizes how urgent this is, but he can’t. No one else can know; he knows that, but…

Anna peeks her head out the door. “Thomas?” she mouths in surprise. “How did you get in here?”

“It doesn’t matter. I need your help. Now.” Anna’s eyes are cold and she starts to shut the door in his face, but his next words stop her. “Anna. Please.”

She must see the desperation in his eyes, because she sighs and opens the door a little wider. “Let me get dressed.”

“No time,” Thomas insists, and for the first time, Anna seems to register his hastily thrown-on trousers and shirt. She raises her eyebrows and he flushes in spite of himself. “It’s not like that – well, it is, but that’s not important right now. It’s Charlie; he won’t let – you need to help him. I can’t – please.”

Anna nods, slipping through the door and shutting it with a quiet snick. She remains silent until they reach the door of the guest bedroom. She turns to face him, then, suspicion clouding her face. “Is this –“

Thomas shakes his head. “I’ll explain later. But promise me one thing: whatever you see in there, you can’t tell anyone. And… please don’t judge him. I don’t think he could take it right now.”

“Thomas Barrow, if you’ve done something to him, you will regret it for the rest of your life,” Anna says, and opens the door. “Oh my god.”

Charlie whimpers and curls back in on himself.

“Charlie?” Anna whispers. “You’re a…”

“A boy,” Thomas cuts in. Charlie doesn’t like people fighting his battles for him, but surely this once it’s alright. “He may have a woman’s body, but he’s more of a man than I am.” Especially now.

“It’s fine,” Anna says unconvincingly. “I was just surprised.” There’s silence for a moment as she takes in the tableaux of Thomas, sex-rumpled and guilty, and Charlie, naked and shivering against a wall, tensing at every movement Thomas makes. Her eyes narrow. “Thomas Barrow, you bastard,” she hisses. “How could you –“

“It’s not like that!”

“Don’t try to tell me it’s not like that!” Anna shouts. “You’ve assaulted him, and now you want my _help_ –“

Thomas claps a hand over her mouth. “Shut _up_ , Anna.” He glances at the door, half expecting Lord Grantham himself to burst in, before he realizes that Charlie just yelped and tried to scramble backwards but hit up against the wall. Thomas feels sick. He snatches his hand away from Anna’s mouth. “I’m so sorry; I didn’t mean to be violent. Charlie, I promise, I wasn’t going to hurt her.”

Charlie mumbles something that sounds like ‘you’re just like them,’ and Thomas was wrong, before. _This_ is true heartbreak.

“I think you need to explain,” Anna says coldly.

Thomas grinds his teeth, because why won’t she just _help_? “Yes, alright, I did that to him. I thought, well, it doesn’t matter what I thought, I still did it. He said – he said he was fine, and I didn’t believe him because you don’t just get over something like that and I didn’t want to hurt him like they did but look now, I’m just as bad as they are and I –“

“Thomas!” Anna says sharply, and Thomas stops. “What do you need me to do?”

Thomas shrugs helplessly. “He won’t let me touch him. He needs to get his clothes and go back to his room, and probably someone to stay with him until he calms down. It can’t be me,” he adds bitterly. “I’ve lost that privilege.”

Anna stares at him for what feels like forever before she nods. “You’ve done enough damage. Get out.” Then, more softly, “I’ve got him.”

“And you won’t –“

“I won’t tell.”

Thomas risks one last glance at Charlie, whose body sags in relief as soon as he sees Thomas turn to go. “Tell him I’m sorry,” Thomas says, but he doesn’t stay to hear Anna’s answer. As he leaves, he thinks he hears Charlie say the same thing, but that can’t be right. It doesn’t matter, anyway.

Charlie has nothing to apologize for, and Thomas never can.

* * *

 

Thomas can’t imagine sleeping right now, so he paces inside his rooms, replaying the night in his head, searching for where he went wrong. There’s the obvious, but now that he looks back on it, there were so many instances where he should have stopped, where they should have sat down and talked about things. He should have known. Charlie should have known, too, but he can’t be angry at Charlie. Not right now.

His heart leaps at the timid knock on the door, but it’s only Anna.

“How did you get in here?”

“It’s not important,” she mimics, giving him a tired smile. “He’s asleep, though how sound that sleep will be, we’ll have to see.”

Thomas’s body nearly collapses with the strength of the sigh of relief that runs through him. “I can’t thank you enough, Anna. When he froze, I thought… like I’d broken him forever.”

“He’s stronger than you give him credit for,” Anna says. Thomas privately disagrees; Charlie is the strongest person he’s ever known, but mentioning that wouldn’t help this situation any. “Now would be the time for that explanation, I think.”

Thomas sinks down onto his bed. Suddenly all of his bones ache and he’s so, so tired. “We’ve been… together… for a while,” he admits. “Nothing sexual, really, because he’s been – assaulted, I guess; I have to be able to say it – in the past and I didn’t want to hurt him. Lady Sybil found out and offered us that room for the night. I thought it was a bad idea, but Charlie seemed so excited, and for a while everything was going well. Then he asked me to fuck him, and I tried to tell him no, I really did, but he wouldn’t listen and… I know it’s my fault. Even though he told me to, I shouldn’t have done it.It was when I was, uh, when I started to… that he panicked.”

Anna rubs at her forehead in either exhaustion or exasperation. Both are plausible at this point. “You’re both idiots, but at the moment I’m more inclined to sympathize with him.”

“That’s fair,” Thomas says. He tries not to sound defeated. “He doesn’t have to worry, though. I won’t go near him again.”

Anna cocks her head at him. “What if he wants you to?”

“He wanted me to fuck him, too, didn’t he? Look how well that turned out,” Thomas spits, and immediately feels bad when Anna recoils. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter. I can’t be close to him because I’ll just keep hurting him without meaning to, and I lo –“ he clears his throat. “I love him too much to do that.”

“If you think that’s best,” Anna says, softly.

“I know it’s best.” Thomas pauses. “Take care of him for me, will you? He needs someone.”

Anna nods, but there’s something unsaid hovering in the air when she leaves, some judgement that Thomas doesn’t even bother ignoring this time. He wallows in it, lets his guilt overwhelm him until he’s sobbing into his pillow. It’s better than pacing, but only barely.

* * *

 

The next morning, Thomas is pale and drawn and ready to flee at the first sight of Charlie.

Charlie isn’t there. Thomas looks around frantically until Anna announces, pointedly, “Thomas, I was just saying that Charles is ill today, so you’ll have to take on his duties.” She inclines her head slightly at him and Thomas lets out the breath he’d been holding.

“Looks like you had a rough night, Thomas,” Obrien says, indicating Thomas’s still-red eyes. “Lovers’ spat with Charles?”

Thomas snarls wordlessly. Only Anna’s hand on his arm stops him from lunging across the table at her. Obrien is saved from what would have been an invective-filled tirade by the appearance of Ms. Hughes, who has the uncanny ability to materialize at the best (or worst) times.

“Obrien, we do not make such insinuations in this house,” she snaps. “Thomas, calm yourself. I’m sure Ms. Obrien didn’t mean it.”

Thomas sags against Anna. Their attitudes don’t even bother him anymore. He’d almost forgotten the way the world thinks of him, honestly, when he was with Charlie. But he’s not with Charlie anymore, and there’s no point in playing nice now.

“I’m sure she did, Ms. Hughes,” he sneers. “I’ll be off, since my lover isn’t here today.”

Anna watches him go with a pained expression.

* * *

Thomas has developed a habit of stopping just outside the doorway to the servant’s dining room and listening for a moment before he goes in. It’s paranoia and he knows it, but today it’s paying off. It’s Obrien, of course, but unlike their usual fights, she’s taken this one public.

“I’m just saying, I’ve never seen him sweet on a girl, and you’ve seen how he is with Charles. It would be bad press for the house if word got out we were harboring one of those people.”

“I don’t think we should speculate,” Daisy says evasively. She’s obviously uncomfortable, and Thomas doesn’t blame her. He’s not sure what Obrien’s up to, but she shouldn’t be involving Daisy. Daisy’s too good for these kinds of tricks.

“I can assure you, Ms. Obrien, that I like pussy as much as the next man,” he drawls, pushing himself off the doorframe and sauntering into the room. The word leaves a sour taste in his mouth, because even though it’s strictly true and fucking Charlie was fine until it went disastrously wrong, it feels wrong to use such a feminine word for Charlie. “And I’d thank you to come to me in private the next time you want to make aspersions on my character.”

“Thomas Barrow,” Ms. Hughes says sharply. Thomas jumps. He hadn’t seen her there, and he certainly wouldn’t have been so vulgar if he’d known. “We do not use that sort of language here.”

Thomas shrugs. “Well, I seem to recall someone saying we don’t make those sorts of accusations here either. I was just defending my honor, Ms. Hughes. Surely you can’t begrudge me that.”

Ms. Hughes tuts but doesn’t scold him again, so Thomas takes that as a victory. Unsettlingly, though, both she and Obrien are looking at him knowingly, and he feels a frisson of fear run down his spine. Too many people know already. This is getting too far out of his control.

“Speaking of Charles, where is he? I thought you two were attached at the… hip,” Obrien says casually. Thomas doesn’t miss the loaded pause, but chooses not to rise to the bait. He’s on thin ice as it is.

“We had a falling out,” he says shortly. “It was my fault.”

He thinks he hears Ms. Hughes mutter, “I don’t doubt that,” but he chooses to ignore that too. Everything seems pointless without Charlie here, even sticking up for himself. Charlie would look at him sadly if he were here, but he’s not here. Thomas has to get used to that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On tumblr as rigelis.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mentions of suicidal ideation and a teensy bit of victim blaming on Thomas's part.

“Lady Sybil?”

“Anna? Is anything the matter?”

Anna shifts from foot to foot, and Sybil frowns. This isn’t like Anna; she’s usually quite direct. “How much do you know about trauma?” Anna asks, hesitant.

“More than most people, I should think,” Sybil says slowly. She doesn’t like where this is going.

Anna shuffles her feet again. “It’s just, Charles – “

Sybil exhales in frustration. This household needs a live-in therapist who is not Sybil Crawley. “Who told you? If Matthew told Mary, I’ll – “

“No, no, Mister Matthew hasn’t spoken to me,” Anna says quickly, eyes wide. “It was Thomas.”

Sybil looks up in surprise. “Thomas told you? Willingly?”

“Something… happened,” Anna says, not meeting Sybil’s gaze.

Sybil’s first instinct is to ask if Charles is alright, but she knows that if something was physically wrong, Anna would have gone to the doctor, so that leaves what she and Matthew talked about. “Has he had a flashback?”

“Something like that, I think,” Anna says. She hesitates. “He won’t want you to see him, but if I knew, or if Thomas knew, how to deal with it…”

“Of course.” Sybil has a fairly good idea of what happened anyway, and she kicks herself for giving them the room in the first place. Her first instinct is to tear Thomas from limb to limb, but she trusts Anna’s judgement. “I take it you don’t blame Thomas?”

“I think he blames himself enough,” Anna admits. “They both do. It seems like a miscommunication, in all honesty, but they’re both too quick to jump to self-loathing.”

“Ordinarily I’d say to let Thomas handle it, since he was a medic in the war and he’s undoubtedly dealt with more trauma than I have,” Sybil allows, though Thomas’s name tastes chalky on her tongue. Even if Anna and Charlie don’t blame him, Sybil doesn’t think she’ll ever be able to look at him the same way. “But that would probably make things worse. I can’t tell you to do anything but keep him away from any triggers. If that means you have to physically remove Thomas –“

“Thomas hasn’t talked to him since it happened,” Anna interrupts. Sybil halts, still in medical advice mode, and it takes her brain a few seconds to shift gears.

“Why not?”

“I think he came to the same conclusion you did and decided the best thing to do was to leave Charlie alone. He really is trying.” Sybil wants to believe Anna, she really does, and the fact that Thomas is giving Charlie space instead of trying to apologize says a lot, but the benefit of the doubt seems an awful lot more than he deserves.

“I’m sure he is. In that case, I would say just be there for him if he needs it. He’s lost his confidante.” Good riddance, she thinks.

* * *

It takes Thomas only a few hours to realize that he can’t keep Charlie out of common areas, so Thomas has to stay out instead. He knows Charlie is confused as to why Thomas is avoiding him, and the rest of the staff are just as confused, but he can’t bring himself to care (that’s a lie; seeing Charlie’s hurt expression when Thomas leaves the room as soon as Charlie enters tears at his soul, but he can’t think about it too hard or his resolve will crumble).

Everyone has noticed that he’s returned to his old acerbic self, but he doesn’t care. He knows, from listening at the door, that they think he told Charlie about his feelings and that was the cause of their falling out. It’s not great, but it’s better than them implicating Charlie as well. Shockingly, no one seems to mind all that much, except Obrien, but that’s to be expected. He imagines it would be different if they assumed the relationship was intimate, or if they knew the truth about Charlie, but for now he’s safe, and, more importantly, Charlie is safe.

This distance from Charlie is allowing him a lot of time to reflect. Sometimes it startles him how much he’s changed since Charlie came to Downton. Thomas always assumed he would never love anyone, and if he did, they would never love him back. But this is… he could never have expected this. He wonders if this is why Lady Sybil is throwing her life away for Branson, this overwhelming need to protect and be near. It’s killing him to stay away.

It’s killing Charlie, too, and everyone can see it. Ms. Hughes has even gone so far as to suggest that they talk it out, since obviously they’re both hurting. Thomas politely declines. He wants to, desperately, but he can’t. He shouldn’t.

Anna has a very different, very vocal opinion. Thomas knows she talks to Charlie now, since Thomas isn’t around. She talks to Thomas sometimes as well, even if every conversation is punctuated by meaningful looks and comments about Charlie’s wellbeing.

It comes to a head one night as she slips into his room. He’s stopped locking his door until he knows for sure she’s gone to bed, so she arrives unannounced, without even knocking, while Thomas is in the process of removing his shirt.

“You need to talk to Charlie.”

“Anna! I’m not dressed,” Thomas squawks, but Anna just folds her arms, looking thoroughly unimpressed.

“I’ve seen you much worse, Thomas, and you’re not going to change the subject or make me leave so you can lock me out.”

Thomas sags in defeat. “You know I can’t talk to him.”

“On the contrary, you have to talk to him,” Anna says. When she gets like this, there’s no arguing with her, but Thomas is determined. He knows he’s in the right. “He’s miserable. He thinks you were so disgusted by him and his panic that you don’t love him anymore. He’s -” she looks away. “He’s in a bad place, Thomas.”

Thomas’s stomach folds in on itself and he can feel all the blood drain from his face. “You don’t mean – “

“I’m worried about him,” is all the answer Anna gives. “Please, just talk to him. He won’t believe it coming from me.”

Thomas squeezes his eyes shut as tight as he can, trying to block out everything but his love for Charlie. All of the doubts, everything he thinks he should or shouldn’t do, don’t matter more than Charlie. “Alright.”

He looks expectantly at Anna, but she just looks back at him, gaze even. “I’m not leaving until you put your shirt back on and walk out this door.”

“Fair enough,” Thomas sighs. He almost doesn’t bother to do up all the buttons, but he needs some sort of armor, and Charlie will probably feel more comfortable if Thomas is fully dressed. “You can go now.”

Anna gives a pointed glance at the door. Thomas shakes his head but exits anyway, holding it open for Anna. “Are you going to watch me walk into his room?”

“Do I have to?” she counters.

“No, I’m out the door now, I might as well. I suppose it had to happen sometime, even if it’s not going to go the way you think it is.”

“If you sabotage this, Thomas…”

“It’s not me you should be worried about,” Thomas says. He believes that Charlie is unhappy, but resuming their relationship can’t be what he wants, or what he needs.

Anna shakes her head. “You’re both idiots. Go.”

Thomas stands outside Charlie’s door for at least a minute, fist raised to knock but somehow unable to move. Once he knocks, this tentative truce is over and Thomas will have to face what he did. The thought sends panic racing through him, but he has to do it. Just man up and knock on the damn door, Thomas. Just knock on the door.

He nearly turns tail and runs; only the thought that Charlie might be in danger – or worse, be a danger to himself – keeps him rooted there, forces his hand forward to rap once on the wood. He can hear footsteps moving towards the door and a hand on the knob, starting to turn, before he speaks.

“Before you open the door,” he starts, and the hand on the knob stills. “I’m not – you should know that it’s me, and not Anna. So if you don’t want to open the door now that you know, that’s fine; I’ll leave you alone.”

There is a split-second pause in which Thomas nearly has a heart attack, and then the knob resumes turning – slowly, but turning. The door opens just a crack, just enough for Thomas to see a sliver of Charlie’s face, pale and wary.

“If you’ve come to tell me it’s over, don’t bother. I’ve figured that out for myself.”

“Over? Why would you – do you want it to be over?” It’s what he was expecting, but it still hurts. He’d hoped Charlie would say it a bit more kindly, at least. On the other hand, Charlie didn’t mention what Thomas did, so in that sense Charlie let him off much easier than he deserved.

“It’s pretty obvious that what I want isn’t important,” Charlie says acidly, and Thomas’s vision whites out for a moment in shame. It’s only what he deserves.

Charlie makes to close the door, and, without thinking, Thomas sticks his foot in the gap. Immediately, Charlie lets go and backs away from the door, and Thomas curses himself. This is why he shouldn’t be here. “Charlie, I’m sorry, I’ll go.”

Charlie frowns. “Look, I get that you’re disgusted by how weak I am, but could you at least not point it out every time it happens?”

“What?” Thomas is gaping, but shutting his mouth is much less urgent than figuring out what Charlie just said, because it seems important in a way that Thomas can’t quite process yet. “Charlie, what?”

“Pretty rich of you to tell me that I’m brave and strong and all of those other things you said, and then ditch me when you see what I was telling you all along. At least you contained your disgust long enough to get help, so thanks for that,” Charlie continues. His words are laced with bitterness and self-recrimination, and Thomas doesn’t understand.

Charlie should be angry at him. Charlie has every right to be angry at him. Charlie should _hate_ him. But if Thomas is hearing him right, it sounds like Charlie is angry at himself, for – what? The way he reacted? If that’s the case, then nothing Thomas has said over the last two months has gotten through his skull at all. But it also means that Anna was right to worry, because Thomas knows what it’s like to hate yourself like that, to think it might be better if –

But that’s behind him. Thomas doesn’t think like that anymore.

Charlie’s eyes go hard and he moves to close the door again, and Thomas scrambles for something to say. “Wait. I don’t understand what you’re saying. I get that you’re mad at me, and you have every right to be, but I don’t understand why. Do you think I’m disgusted by you? I don’t – Charlie, why would you think that?”

“Because the minute you saw how I reacted to being fucked, you ran away,” Charlie hisses. “And since then, you’ve made it very clear you want nothing to do with me.” And he slams the door in Thomas’s face.

* * *

Thomas startles awake when the surface he was slumped against suddenly gives way, and – oh. He fell asleep up against Charlie’s door after pleading in vain for him to open it. It was probably the exact opposite of what Charlie wanted, but there was no way Thomas was going to leave him alone and let him do something stupid. That, at least, seems to have worked, since Charlie is standing over him, face scrunched up in anger.

“Leave me alone.”

Thomas sits up guiltily, but he refuses to back down. “Not if you’re going to hurt yourself.”

“Did Anna tell you that?” Charlie’s laugh is hollow. “Don’t worry. I’m not as weak as you seem to think I am.”

Thomas’s heart stutters. That’s good, of course, but – does Charlie think wanting to die makes you weak? Would he think _Thomas_ was weak? Sometimes Thomas thinks that not killing himself was the only strong thing he’s done in his entire life, and Charlie thinks he’s _weak_?

“Fuck you,” he spits, aware that he’s lashing out but unable to stop it. “I never thought you were weak, Charlie. I’m not the one who pushed you too far. You’re the one who thinks you’re weak.”

Thomas limps away as angrily as he can, hating the pins and needles in his legs that were apparently for nothing, because Charlie isn’t weak enough to think about killing himself. He resolutely doesn’t look back at Charlie. Fuck Charlie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on tumblr at [rigelis](rigelis.tumblr.com)!


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